French Language quirks, like everyone else’s, are mostly linguistic. And feature most prominently in “terms of endearment.”It does’nt take an Olympic leap of the imagination to understand – “mon coeur.” (my heart) or “mon petite ange.” (my little angel) Definitely other identical/similiar phrases in many other languages.

However, quirks in the French Language(ever versatile) are not limited to variations on the”you are mine and don’t you forget it” theme. There is one French quirk that transcends regional boundaries. Hard(actually, impossible) to describe, even with my effervescent prose, is the French Quirk of wordless agreement. Instead of “uh-huh”, “um hum” or even a quick “yeah”, the froggy ones pony up a petite grunt. “Ump”is about the closest words can come. And that’s still a few football fields away from a touchdown.

Of course it’s not just the wine swilling cheese chompers who spew weird words in unique ways. English Women may call you”duckie”, while the U.K.men(regardless of your name) greet you with “ow right, John?”

But the icing on the English Linguistic quirk cake is the phrase – “Bob’s your Uncle.”(Translation – “no worries”.)

As weird, wack, wild, wonderful and way out as those be(and we have’nt even mentioned Cockney rhyming slang!) – not all English quirks are linguistic.

In another lifetime, I shared a house in the West end of London with two other guys. Phil, a gregarious, always ready to party actor, and Peter , a quiet, but not dead, stenographer.

Since Peter rose at “0-dark-30″(an Americanism for too early to imagine)Phil and I’s primary household concern was to make sure whatever in-house evening we might be enjoying, did not rob Peter of his much needed “z’s.”

Alors ,when/if we came in late, since Peter had no car, there was no way of knowning if he was home or not.

Ever resourceful, as well as gregarious , it was Phil who devised the “PEWS.”(Peter Early Warning System)

Peter’s quirk, being neatness. Order. A place for everything .And everything in it’s place. If he was home, Peter’s first stop would be our postage stamp living room.(Visualize a poor dentist’s waiting room. ….Better yet……….try to visualize a poor dentist! The ultimate contradiction..n’est ce pas?)

And the first stop on his round the room inspection tour would be the faux brass candle holders, on the mantelpiece of our faux fireplace. If, for some inexplicable reason one happened to be ever so slightly mis-aligned – Peter to the rescue!

You’re getting my drift, dear reader, are you not?

Whenever Phil or I left the house, we’d turn one of the candle holders, ever so slightly. If it remained in the same position upon our return, we were assured an all-the-noise-you-want-Peter-free-evening!

I never discovered Phil’s quirk .But, certainly he had one. As do you also dear reader. Everyone has a quirk . Some unconscious personal habit , that is as apparent to the rest o’ the world as a spaghetti stain on a white shirt.

My quirk, contrary to what you might imagine, did not begin with my discovery of France and subsequent ascension to the lofty pinnacle of bicyclegourmet-dom. It is, in fact,inbred. But not genetic.

As a pre-teen(when, like all pre-teens/teenagers…..I did consumer mass quantities at indy 500 speed)one of my most vivid memories,is of my Mother, asking for “just a little taste” of my Matterhorn sized bowl of Cherry ice cream.”AAAAW MOM!” of course was my natural response. But Mom really did want “just a taste.”

Now, like her then, I’m definitely on the “less is more” program.For food, anyway.Wine – like a beautiful woman, crazy about ya and always available, can be a “severe consumption challenge.”

I never considered myself as having a quirk, until a girlfriend got to calling me “Mr. Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner.” Inevitable, I suppose, considering the height of her culinary expertise was instant Chinese noodles.

I wear my quirk lightly, aided, obviously by a National lifestyle that revolves around food ,wine and the pursuit of “Le Bonheur.”(Happiness)Buoyed by , and further connected to my fellow humans by the realization that, like a birthmark, our quirks are badges of individuality. And that’s a good thing.

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